


rise for america

by tsunderestorm



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-07-14 14:03:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7174778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsunderestorm/pseuds/tsunderestorm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Captain America's legacy is long-lasting, and manifests in surprising ways. Like the fact that his chorus girls' outfits from back during the war are now...a costume?</p><p>Which Bucky buys for him, and suggests that he wear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	rise for america

**Author's Note:**

> this is pure, self-indulgent filth, and I wish I could be sorry but I'm not. lmao

Bucky buys it as a joke. Mostly. It’s some cheesy costume, part of a set, a direct throwback to the outfits that Steve’s dancers wore during his shows. It’s a halter top, silky blue, with glitter detailing on the neckline. The skirt is striped, thick patches of rich, deep red and pure virgin white with what he swears is two pounds of stuff underneath to fluff the thing up so it's full and appealing. It isn’t a perfect replica, honestly - it’s a little too vamped up to be an honest recreation, but he guesses that’s probably the point. Funny, he thinks; part of his history is just short of a Halloween costume, now.

“You should put it on, Stevie,” Bucky says. His grin is wide, charming, and Steve’s heart melts like it always does when stormy-sky eyes have just a glimmer of sparkling starlight in them. Steve doesn’t even know where he'd found it, let alone how he’d found it close enough to his size. He has a lot of questions.

“Betcha you’d be the cutest backup dancer in the chorus if you did.”

“Buck…”

Steve can’t imagine wearing _that_. The skirt is so short he thinks it _might_ hit the tops of his thighs, and although he’s never worn a dress he’s pretty sure he couldn’t pull it off the same way all of the pretty girls had, with their shining white shoes that click-clacked across the stage and long, shapely legs covered in perfect-smooth nylons; their crisp red lipstick and their perfectly curled hair. He wouldn’t do it justice, honestly, and that's just what he tells Bucky.

“No way in hell,” he says quietly, pushing it back into Bucky's arms and shaking his head.

“Well, it’s non-refundable.” Bucky says as he crosses the room to hang it in the closet. “So there.”

Steve forgets about it.

\--

He forgets about it, at least, until he’s shopping with Nat (for lingerie, of all things - _what are friends for_? she asks as she asks for his opinion on a strappy black harness bra that he nods a little too quickly in response to) and he finds _them_. The perfect panties. Bright red, sheer, a soft satin ribbon on the back. After a while, all he can think about is how obscene they’ll look under that damn dress hanging in their closet at home.  
  


He buys them.

(Why the hell not? Either he'll get the courage to put the dress on and the panties will be the perfect complement, or he won't get the courage to put on the dress, and they'll still drive Bucky crazy anyway.)

Then, he waits.

\--

Steve tries several times, he really does. He entertains various fantasies that involve waiting until Bucky’s asleep and then slipping into it, waking him up straddling his thick thighs, or maybe slipping into it when Bucky takes a shower. He imagines him coming out in only a towel, still hot and wet and half-hard already to find Steve reclined on the bed in that getup. Every time, something stops him - the burn of embarrassment across his cheeks spreading all the way up to his ears, the worry that maybe Bucky really _had_ been joking and doesn’t even want to see it after all, _something_. His head works like this, sometimes. He hates it.

Steve finally decides to make his move when Bucky steps out.

Read: he finally grows tired enough of getting off to his fantasies, lying back in the bed on the rare occasions Bucky isn't in the mood and feeling like that damn costume dress is mocking him from the closet as he comes to the thought of Bucky's hands on him in it.

Bucky doesn’t usually go out by himself, but the market is just a short drive and he’s been craving fruit recently, anyway. Steve hopes he’ll eat some on the drive back, make his lips wet and sticky-sweet. Besides, it'll give him enough time to get ready because, in all honesty, he doesn't know how well this is going to go.

The panties he puts on carefully. The last thing he wants is to stretch the sheer red lace too much, pulling them over the curve of his ass and his already swelling cock and turning this way and that in the mirror. Nice thighs, nice ass, that he knows. Bucky tells him constantly, he can’t get enough. Even more so now, accentuated with a bow on the back of the panties at the base of his spine. It’s a little hard to tie it perfect, with it being behind him and all, but he thinks he manages.

The dress is harder. It barely fits,clasped tight at the base of his neck, snug across his broad chest. The shiny blue stretches over his pecs and barely covers his nipples. Hard, pressing against the thin fabric. Lewd. He thumbs over one of them and his breath catches at the thought of Bucky doing the same and he feels lightheaded. The skirt hits where he thought it’d be, _barely_ mid-thigh, and he finds himself half-wishing he had some stockings to wear with it. He imagines Bucky peeling them, whisper soft, down his legs and his cock strains more against the panties. He hopes Bucky comes home before he has second thoughts.

He arranges himself on a chair, one leg thrown over the arm, thighs spread. It’s obscene, the reflection he catches for a split second in the window across the room, splayed out and waiting. He tucks the ruffles of the skirt down between his legs to hide his cock, heavy and full and _aching_ and god, it's agony not to touch.

Bucky gets home with his arms full of groceries, head down to make sure he doesn’t miss the step inside the front door. Steve watches him walk in with a lump in his throat, feels his heart beat so loud it’s a wonder Bucky doesn’t hear it in those few seconds he’s waiting for him to turn around. Finally, Steve swallows thickly and, unsticking his tongue from the roof of his over-dry mouth, says “Heya, soldier.”

Bucky finally locks the door and turns around. The play of emotions across his face is fascinating to Steve: surprise, confusion, appreciation, and pure filthy, feral lust. It makes Steve's heart beat fast in excitement rather than worry, makes the little nagging bit of doubt vanish in a wisp of smoke and makes his skin prickle with heat.

“Stevie, doll, I thought you were never gonna put it on for me,” Bucky sighs, letting the bag in his hands all but fall fall to the hallway floor. Fruit spills everywhere - rich, dark plums rolling under the table beside the doorway, an orange bouncing away, some weird pink fruit with green spikes spilling awkwardly from a rip in the bag. Bucky doesn't care. He's got eyes only for _him_. “Aren’t you just a vision in red white and blue, baby?”

“I look stupid, Buck,” Steve starts to say before the wind is knocked out of him, before Bucky has crossed the room in quick, heavy strides, before he's hauling him up out of the chair by the low V of the dress’ neckline. He kisses first the corners of his mouth, then then the center, delving his tongue past soft lips when Steve gasps to admit him.

“Nah. My pretty little performer.” Bucky growls, hands already sliding down Steve’s sides to rest on his hips, circle around to squeeze his ass. Greedy, like he’s never done it before. Every time like that, like he’ll die if he doesn’t touch him, doesn’t get at him right _then_. “If I’d have been Cap, would you have enlisted as my number one gal, huh?”

Steve doesn’t always do things with the intention of shutting Bucky up, but this will have to be one of those times. Bucky’s hands feel like fire, his voice like a hand between his legs, and Steve’s hand finds the back of Bucky’s neck, fingers tangling in his long hair as he crushes their lips together harder, hungrier, tasting the insides of Bucky’s warm mouth with his tongue. Sugary, fruity, like he’d expected. Like sweet fire.

“Bucky, ah, I dunno - “ he says in between kisses, in between stuttering drags of his hand down between them to unclasp Bucky’s belt, sliding it out of the catch and following suit with the button of his jeans. Bucky’s hard, too; he feels it, he wants it, he needs it. In his hand, in his mouth, maybe, in _him_ , thick and hard up inside like he knows Bucky wants. Like they both want. “Would have, maybe. Wouldn’t have filed out the dress the same way, though, with me being all bones.”

“Woulda wanted to get up under your skirts anyway, Stevie,” Bucky winks and slides his hands down Steve’s thighs and back upwards, pushing the ruffled petticoat high up his hips and Steve flushes red. It’s not like this is the first time he’s worn panties in bed with Bucky, _for_ Bucky, but it’s the first time he’s worn these. Red, not really a normal color for him. He's a blue or white kind of guy, maybe a little boring but hell, old habits die hard and there's no reason to change what's already working, he guesses.

“Oh, _hell_ ,” Bucky sighs, pulling back slightly to look at him, really look at him. Steve turns obediently when he’s guided and he can almost _feel_ Bucky’s breath catch when he's got his back to him and Bucky gets a good look at his ass.

Bucky smacks his hand down on Steve’s ass, palm flat, and then squeezes. Fingers greedy again. Grabbing, reaching, desperate. “Wrapped up with a bow for me, doll, and it ain’t even my birthday.”

Steve leans forward and braces his hand on the back of the chair he’d been sitting in, exposing the backs of his thighs and the swell of his ass, the heavy weight of his balls behind a curtain of thin fabric. Bucky moans and grabs again, fingers digging into firm flesh, moving up to trace the open window of skin between the ribbon and panties. Steve knows he should feel silly doing all of this, he always does, but Bucky’s reaction changes all of it, making him feel sexy.

“I could fuck you right here,” Bucky all but purrs, voice low as he leans over him to pull a convenient bottle of lube out of the end table drawer, left there from some time they'd been pawing at each other during a movie. “But I think I want you on me.”

Steve nods. He can feel the press of Bucky’s cock against him, hard and huge as it bumps against his the backs of his thighs. Bucky barely has his pants down, just enough to pull his cock out and something about that is so much more obscene than Steve would have thought possible. Steve makes a soft sound when Bucky’s slick finger slips under the edge of the panties. He circles it around his hole, delves inside, crooks to rub just _so_. “Wanna watch that flouncy skirt get all messed up from your dripping cock.”

Steve moans and bucks back against Bucky’s hands the more he plays with him. He’s getting impatient - normally he can take it slow, honest, but something about today is different, something about Bucky is different. The press of his hands are more insistent, his cock harder than Steve swears it’s ever been, swollen and hot and he wants it, wants fucked in this dress, silky-slick fabric sliding against his sweat-damp skin, the scratch of the material under the skirt a perfect contrast on over-sensitive thighs. Bucky slides another lube-slick finger in, stretching him open, listening to the soft sounds slipping out of his throat, making his breath catch and voice crack like some damn teenager when he moans his name.

“Wanna suck on those pretty nipples while you ride me, sweetheart.” Bucky says as he pulls the panties down, bending to tug them down Steve's legs and kicking them away when Steve steps out of them. Hot as sin, but inconvenient right now.

Steve shakes and cants forward, legs suddenly weak. His arms and legs feels more like boneless jello than a body and he wishes Bucky would stop with the steady stream of smut that's spilling out of his mouth and make good on some of those promises.

Bucky backs off and guides Steve out of his way, throwing his weight down in the chair and pushing his pants down his hips with a squirm. The catch of the band of his underwear up under his balls makes him hiss through his teeth, the sound followed by a low wolf whistle when Steve fists hands in the hem of his skirt and hikes it up so he can straddle Bucky's waist. Their cocks rub together, hot and slick, and Steve whines when they touch, whines when Bucky squeezes his hand into the meat of Steve's ass and thigh and tugs him forward, closer, rocking their hips together and arching up to catch Steve's wet lips in a kiss.

“Whaddaya say, doll face? This a dance number you can do for me?” Bucky drawls when he pulls away, leaning back to let Steve do the work from here. He reaches under himself to wrap a hand around Bucky's cock, firm and confident, letting the tip catch against his slick hole. Steve's good at this part; good at situating himself on Bucky's cock, seating it full up inside him, thick and hot. Just a shade too much for him, but he likes a challenge. Bucky keeps a hand on him to guide the roll of his hips as he works himself on it, uses the other to shove the layers of skirt out of the way to squeeze Steve's flushed cock, stroke up it slow, make him shake all over the way his thighs are already shaking.

Steve's only response is a low whine of “ _Bucky_...”

It's a whine Bucky's familiar with, a sound he loves, a sound he knows just how to drag out when he leans forward to nuzzle at Steve's chest, teeth finding the hardened nub of a nipple beneath the fabric. Steve's hand that isn't bracing himself on the back of the chair slides easily back into Bucky's hair and urges him forward, presses the swell of his tits against his face and Bucky drags the almost-sheer material out of the way with his teeth, flicks his tongue out to lick over his nipple, suck just slightly and Steve _shivers_ – fuck, he'd always loved having his nipples played with.

That had been one of the first things Bucky had remembered, when they started all of this back up again. He thinks it's funny as hell.

What isn't funny is how well Steve responds to that. Now that's just plain _sexy_ , the way he arches his back and rolls his hips like he's trying to push Bucky's cock in further as Bucky kisses and licks and sucks on his flushed nipples, moaning low around them and murmuring out appreciations that are lost to the sounds of their bodies moving together.

Steve feels like a goddamn dream when he tightens around Bucky, when his muscles clench and body tenses when he comes squeezing Bucky's cock so hard he sees stars in his vision. It doesn't take long for Bucky to follow suit, hands on Steve's hips, moving his body the way he likes it as he fucks the last few thrusts up into him until he comes hot inside. Steve's head is lowered, submissive and spent, like he's studying the lines of thread in Bucky's t-shirt (still on – wow, they hadn't wasted much time at all, had they?) and Bucky brings his hand up to catch Steve's chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting it up.

“You're sexy as hell, you know that?” Bucky groans, relaxing back against the chair and knowing Steve will follow his lead, still pleased as pie when he does. “Get me goin' like nobody else ever could.”

He returns the compliment, because it's the truth. “You're sexy as hell, Buck. Those things you were saying...you know your mouth's always gotten to me.”

“Happy to oblige.” Bucky says with a wink Steve can't see, but he can hear. He adjusts their positions just slightly to make it more comfortable to sit, and Steve screws his face up when his cock moves inside of him, soft now but he knows it'll be hard again later. He wonders if they'll actually take their clothes off for the second round, hopes that at least Bucky will. He wants to see him, all of him.

“So, can I call you the star spangled man with the panties now?” Bucky asks, gesturing at the panties discarded on the floor beside the chair.

Steve leans down and presses his forehead to Bucky's, eyes sliding closed as he smiles easy. “Buck, you're such an ass. Don't call me that.” Honestly, Steve is just glad Bucky doesn't have any other thoughtful puns from that song. He vaguely remembers a few lines that he's sure Bucky's mind could warp, given that it's always in the gutter anyways.

“Gotta,” he teases, pressing his lips to Steve's for a fleeting second, somehow with no shortness of tenderness. Steve shakes his head and nestles his face into the crook of Bucky's neck, kissing at the flutter of his pulse.

“Love you, Bucky.”

“I fuckin love you too, Stevie.” Bucky says as his hand rubes circles on Steve's back, teasingly tugging at the clasp of the halter top. “Love you and your panties.”

“ _Bucky_!”


End file.
